


appearances rarely share the whole truth

by njckle



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, Ishbalan Character(s) | Ishvalan Character(s), Ishbalan | Ishvalan Alphonse Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Trisha Elric, Ishvalan AU, Kimblee is a racist motherfucker, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, ed and al are refugees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njckle/pseuds/njckle
Summary: They escape Ishval just as the fighting begins.





	appearances rarely share the whole truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hystericalcherries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalcherries/gifts).



> This has been in my WIPs for a long time.
> 
> For my sister. Now you can shut up and stop nagging me about this.

Al takes one look at their ride to freedom and scurries back to the safety of their mom's skirt.

Ed isn't scared, not really. Like his newly given name, he takes in stride, memorizing every detail of the silent metal beast standing before him. The suit of armor is tall, taller than him, than mom, than anyone else in the room. Big and bulky, he's never seen anything so imposing, with a fanged face and empty pits for eyes. The spikes are cool, he thinks.

“ _How long do we have to stay in there_?” Al asks. He and Ed watch Mr. Rockwell carefully put the pieces of armor into a wooden crate.

“ _The whole trip_ ,” their mother says. She kneels down, cupping Ed’s face in her hands before he can throw a tantrum at being confined for an impossible amount of time. “ _I know, my shining sun, but you’ll have to tough it out. It’s important that no one sees you_.”

“ _Why_?” Al whines, gripping her skirt.

“ _You know why. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it's for the best. You understand that, don't you?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Al says as Ed mutters, “ _I guess_ …”

“ _I’ll miss you_ ,” their mom murmurs, hugging them close to her chest. “ _Edward, you take care of your brother. You too, Alphonse_. _Be good for the_ Rockbells _._ ”

Both of them promise to be on their best behavior, and then their mom kisses each of their heads, running her hands through their hair. She whispers a small prayer over them, wishing them safe passage, like she did for their father whenever he left for his trips. Ed gets the feeling she’s making up for something, but he doesn’t know what. This is only temporary, not their last goodbyes.

“Alright, up you go!” Mr. Rockbell says, stepping forward and lifting Ed by his armpits. Al’s dropped in right after, the space inside the suit just big enough to fit the both of them.

Al falls a little lower when Ed nudges him. Once they’re somewhat comfortable, they look up at Mr. Rockbell and, for some reason, he looks sad. Ed wonders what he has to be sad about. Al and him are the ones leaving.

“ _Bye_ ,” Al says quietly just as the helmet is put into place.

* * *

 When they’re finally let out, it’s to a bluer world. The house is cleaner and nicer than what they’re used to, nothing like their little home and its dirt floors, and the face peeking into the crate is just as unfamiliar. Except the eyes, those he recognizes immediately. Blue, like Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell.

Ed stares a the girl.

The girl stares back. “Hi.”

He points at Alphonse. “ _Al has to pee._ ”

* * *

 Ed throws a tantrum for every mistake he makes with this new language. The way they have to introduce themselves, how the numbers are counted, it’s completely different than what he’s used to. A word that means one thing can also means something else and he hates that there’s no translation for a feeling he knows exists, these blue-eyed foreigners not understanding that they can’t just lump it all into one word.

He and Al already knew a little from Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell, so why should they bother to learn more? They’ve already given up their true names for ones that only partially sound right. Why can't everyone else learn their language? It's only fair.

It’s just one of the realities that comes with living in this foreign land. Like how they can’t recite the prayers their mother taught them in public, or wear their tribe’s robes outside of the Rockbell home (not that they can go far past the property). Ed doesn’t like all the new rules that don’t make any sense, hates it every time that he has to change himself for the rest of the world when it can’t be bothered to do the same for him. He hates it when Granny gently tells Al that he can't go outside by himself, that it's not safe, that someone will recognize him because of his hair—because of his eyes. It makes him think that leaving home and coming to this stupid country was the worst decision ever made.

Winry’s pretty great, so it's not all bad.

* * *

 They've been living in Amestia for a three years when Ed sees a hint of his old home.

Not a thing, but rather an expression. It’s only something he’s ever seen at their village during the scary times, when he’d see women weep and scream nonstop, no matter how hard you tell them to be quiet. Old, young, beautiful, ugly, it didn’t matter what they looked like, their faces always had the same horribleness to them.

Winry’s face has the horribleness now, her eyes shining as tears stream down her cheeks, while Granny has it etched in every wrinkle.

Ed gaze takes in the rest of the room, the drawn blinds and and the pieces of glass all across the floor, a dozen of damp flowers looking pitiful at the center—except there’s more, pictures, syringes, bandages, letters, all kinds of stuff that looks like personal belongings. But Ed bypasses all this, his eyes zeroing on the jewelry lying on the tabletop.

Al’s not far behind him, coming through the door with a hop in his step and a smile on his face. His expression falters when he takes in the room. “What’s wrong?” He spots the necklace on the table. “Hey, I remember that. It’s mother’s. Did she send it to us? Did she say when we can come home?”

There's no answer and the truth comes out in the silence that begins to punch at their hearts. How could they not understand when it's written so clearly in their faces. It all fits into place, the explanation for the stopped letters and packages of Ishvalan herbs and flowers specifically picked for them, one they didn’t bother to consider.

Al stars crying, his voice synchronizing with Winry’s while Granny’s shaky voice pleads for them to stop, saying empty promises and worthless reassurances.

Ed doesn’t cry. Rather, he grows angry. It burns, so sudden and strong, making his fingers curl into fists and teeth grind. It's not fair, he wants to say, but can't. He feels like he’s falling, drowning in this whirlwind of emotion that breeds in his chest, suffocating him all the while.

While his life shatters and falls apart before his very eyes, Ed wants to do nothing but let his faith in an inactive god wither and die.

And it does.

* * *

 They study the alchemy of the country.

The elders of the village would be rolling in their graves if they knew, but they’re not there. Ed can taste the disappointment he’ll never get to experience, no priests to tell him off and put him on the right path of God. His mother always sung her prayers, presenting faith as something beautiful, to be cherished, but that’s gone too.

His father knew alchemy. Ed remembers the whispers and stares, the way his mother shooed then from their father's study time after time. The symbols and diagrams he'd caught glimpses of had been fascinating to Ed, another language that spoke with change and science rather than words.

Fascination turns into desperation. With alchemy there’s the chance they could get their mother back. She'd be alive and happy, and they'd all live with Pinako and Winry as one loving family.

And that life is definitely worth going against God.

* * *

 They need a teacher.

Ed knows that him and Al have gotten pretty far on their own, but they can only learn so much without help. To survive this awful world, they need to learn how to fight back, how to be the best of the best.

That’s the only reason they search out this Izumi Curtis woman.

She rejects them both.

“Is it because we’re just kids?” he yells. His temper has grown since the time he’s been in Amestria and this woman brings it out full swing when she brushes off their request. He’s tired of people turning away because of where they’re from and how they look like, has come to spite the people who stare and whisper their slurs.

“Is it because we’re Ishvalan?” Al asks, not as loud but just as passionate.

From her expression, Ed thinks the woman’s shocked, like she’s surprised they’d had the gall to argue back. That doesn’t make her any less mean. “Your people rejected alchemy, so why should I condone some kids who don’t know what they’re asking for?” she says angrily. “Go pray to your god and leave us non-believers to rot.”

“Our people are dead!” Ed wants to be heard, to be taken seriously. Al takes his hand. “What kind of God doesn’t care if so many people are murdered for no reason? That’s not one I want to believe in!”

Now he knows she’s caught off-guard. “You really are determined to sell your souls, are you?”

He’s done with this religious junk. “Will you teach us or not?”

“That depends. What are you two willing to do to get stronger?”

“Anything,” Al says. He gets to his knees, jabbing Ed in leg to do the same. “Please teach us.”

The woman is silent for a long time, staring at them like they’re a new breed of human, something that can’t be understood through scientific inquiry. She looks almost hesitant.

Ed glares at the ground so he doesn’t have to see her face. “Please.”

“Alright then.” Ed looks back up to find the woman’s expression has morphed into something sinister, a grinning demon that knows it has them in its clutches. “If you two are so keen on throwing away your lives, then I might as well show you how ill-prepared you really are. Get ready for the worst training in your pathetic lives!”

She takes them on as pupils and it nearly kills them.

* * *

 When news of the war’s end is broadcasted over the radio, the host spouting about honor and celebration mixed in with the static, Pinako shuts it off immediately. “We should’ve never fought in that darn war,” she says. Ed hears the fury and grief in her voice and agrees.

* * *

 When he’s bleeding out in front of a disfigured _thing_ that’s supposed to be their mother and all that’s left of Al are a pile of clothes, he’ll think that his people were right about Amestris. It’s a country that indulges sin in the form of alchemy and he’s become an ignorant fool dumb enough to believe the blasphemy it breeds.

He has one thing on his mind as he crawls across the floor that spans miles—Al was gone, vanished, taken, _pulled to pieces by greedy hands_ and Ed would be damned if he let him go without a fight.

There’s blood—his blood, the _things_ ’s blood, mixing together on the stone floor, forever intertwining their fates with this one act of sacrilege—and it reminds him of Ishval. For a moment he’s back there, watching men carrying the dead through the village from the entryway of his crumbling home. Except now he's the poor soul who's lost his limb, crawling back inch by inch for help. He's the one screaming, begging and crying, hoping that it's all a dream.

The armor—his, Al’s, their salvation, always the constant guard for a less-than-ordinary room—stares down at him like an all-knowing deity. It tuts at his mistakes, but does nothing when he paints his blood on it's freezing metal body.

His arm vanishes, gone like his leg, but Ed doesn’t care anymore. He focuses on the armor. It stirs, plates clicking as it spasms with new life, and then Ed sees it. There's a light, dim and focused, at the center of the black pits of the helmet.

“ _Brother…_ ” Al’s voice is muted and echoes like a fading call, but it's still the most amazing thing Ed’s heard. He breathes, the painful flare where his hand should've been no longer important, and slumps against the suit of armor that saved his brother not once, but twice.

It's only then he lets himself cry, the happy tears tasting sweet from relief.

* * *

 On the day of his examination, Al suggests that he go with a more subtle outfit. He is, after all, going to be in a room with powerful state alchemists as well as the Fuhrer, so it would do well to look as friendly as possible.

Except Ed isn’t the kind of person to do things in half.

No, he decides, if he’s doing this, he’s going to do it his way. It’s his soul he’s selling, his right he’s giving up, so the people who’ll be in charge of him will damn well know what— _who_ they’re accepting into their ranks.

The stares that follow him as he makes his way deeper into the heart of the beast don’t bother him, the whispers just useless chatter to him by now. Al’s thudding footsteps behind him are heavy, the clinking of his armor reassuring (he’ll be alone for the actual exam, but it’s good to know that his brother will be close by), and he doesn't doubt they make quite a pair.

A refugee and an empty suit of armor storming Central.

When he’s put into a room full of men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he so much as steps out of line, there’s no fear, no anger, nothing of the kind. He’s already done so much in his twelve years, seen more than half the people in the room, and nothing can shake his beliefs, turn him away from his goal. He knows what he wants and know what it takes to get and that’s that.

He’s a splash of red in an otherwise blue world, a result of past atrocities that won’t be forgotten. For his people, his _mother_ , he'll be the target of stares, of rumors, of hate and guilt—a chimera of their own design—all in the name of reminding a nation of their biggest mistake.

He may have rejected his faith, but he'll take on this crown of thorns along with the mockery that comes with it.

* * *

 “Mutt,” someone hisses right by his ear before getting lost in the sea of blue eyes and indifferent faces.

“Who said that?” demands Lieutenant Ross, turning and squinting at the people passing by. No one speaks up again, just as Ed knew they wouldn’t, but he knows it’ll happen again. There’s safety in numbers and, even with two escorts, he isn’t safe from judgement.

Times like these, he gets even angrier at his father, not just for never coming back, but for leaving them distasteful genes. Man and woman, young and old, every Ishvalan had red rubies for eyes, so why were they any different? Why did they have to have red eyes broken with speckles of gold that told everyone within a five-mile radius just what they were?

A half breed.

(“ _Your father’s here_ ,” his mother would say, always with that sad smile whenever they asked about him.

“ _Where_?” he would demand, looking around and seeing nothing.

“ _Here_.” She would laugh, always. She'd point, at a puddle or bowl, barely clear enough to show their reflections.  “ _Don't you see him_?”)

The people of their village had been kind, treated Ed and Al like any of the other children. It didn't matter that their father was a foreigner. Despite his damning research, there were only good things to be said about the man; how loving he'd been to their mother, how helpful and courteous to neighbors, how respectful he treated everyone in the village. He was different, he was strange, he wasn't like the other Amestrians, and almost everyone had been sad to see him go.

Now the village was gone and their mother dead, not one sight of the man who'd left them without a glance back in the years that followed. Respect and humanity had abandoned their race along with him, cruelty and hate arriving with the blue-eyed soldiers.

And still it continued. All it took was one person to break the glass, show that even a hint of prejudice would be tolerated, and others would join like hounds on fresh meat.

“Don’t bother,” he says, gaze never breaking from the path ahead of them. “You can’t tell every idiot to shut it, so just ignore it. Besides, I’m used to it by now.”

He's really not.

* * *

 Maes Hughes is everything his country is not. Kind. Boisterous. Cheerful. _Annoying_.

“You boys have anywhere to stay?”

Ed scowls at the unnecessary query at his personal plans. “We’ll manage.”

“I don't know, brother, it's pretty late.” Al says worriedly, which translates to _who knows if we'll be able to convince anyone before the morning_.

Ed shrugs away the concern. They’ll manage, they always have.

Sighing, he starts to pull his hood back up, only for a heavy weight to suddenly come down on his shoulders. He glares up at Hughes (always smiling with that ridiculous, stupid, downright _infuriating_ grin of his) through the fringes of his hair. “Wh—”

“I insist that you stay with me!”

For once, he caught off guard.

“ _What_.”

“Oh, we couldn't—” Al tries to say, but he's waved off.

“Nonsense! Me and my wife would love to have you!—I did tell you about my wife, right?” A picture is brought out of a smiling woman alongside the little girl. “You’ll absolutely love her! And her cooking is amazing! Trust me when I say this, you’re in for a great meal tonight, boys!” The man continues to gush, dragging along an unwilling Ed toward the door.

With how disgustingly excited the man is, Ed knows he won’t be able to argue against it. The only thing to do would be to roll with it as best he can and hope Hughes doesn’t drive him nuts.

“Only for a few days. That's it.” A few days, he tells himself, no more. He’ll accept the invitation, but he's not going to let them ride off of the charity.

“A few days, sure, sure!” Hughes agrees too easily and Ed has the suspicion that the two of them have a different definition of a few days. Still, he lets it slide.

And when they leave, Ed spotting Mustang roll his eyes at Hughes’ over enthusiastic goodbye, he allows the corner of his lips to tilt up.

* * *

 Shou Tucker is a despicable human being.

Ed repeats this thought over and over again as he hunches over the toilet, spilling out his guts.

* * *

 They meet another Ishvalan.

For a guy preaching about cleansing the country, righting the wrongs of sinners and criminals, he’s more violent than any holy man Ed’s met. Rather, he’s a twisted version of what their culture was, bitter and angry and unreasonable, a monster who thinks he’s a savior, and everything Ed hopes he’ll never become.

He’s been tainted, yes, dragged Alphonse down with him in his fall of grace, but what right does the maniac have to decide whether they should live or die? It’s their fault they flew too close to sun and burned, not his, so he better back off and let them deal with their damnation how they see fit. And Ed doesn’t hesitate to tell him so.

“ _You can take your revenge and shove it up your ass!_ ” he yells, clapping his hands together. He wants nothing more than to beat this guy into a pulp. “ _I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and that’s to protect my brother!_ ”

Scar tries to kill them.

He nearly succeeds.

* * *

 Armstrong accompanies them back to Resembool because most of Al’s body is in ruins and Ed is one arm short of fixing him.

This isn’t the first time they’ve taken the trip back home, but it’s the first that passes without any trouble. The mere sight of the muscular man has any troublemakers keeping their distance, while his usual gusto incapitates the train conductors, leaving them surprisingly polite and Ed with whiplash. Traveling through the station produces the same effect and Armstrong pushes them along like it's the easiest thing in the world, and Ed thinks that, to him, it is.

When they finally get to the Rockbell home, it’s suddenly different—he’s different. He greets Granny like he’s not a giant of a man, but rather a refugee pleading for salvation. “You're Pinako, the woman who took in the Elric Brothers?”

Granny nods, taking out her pipe. “Yes, that's me.”

Ed sees another strange sight. Armstrong is strong, seemingly invincible, one of the few people who liked him and Al, who treats them with respect and kindness. Despite being ridiculous at times, he encouraged them to persevere despite their tragedies, to rise above the occasion and become something more. With all his strength and might, Ed never pegged him as the despairing type, to let his sins and past mistakes bring him down.

So when Armstrong gets down to his knees and takes Granny’s petite hands in his, and says, “Thank you” in a voice so emotional Ed doesn't know what to do.

All to an old woman who took in two little boys escaping from a dying home.

* * *

 “Edward and Alphonse… those aren’t regular Ishvalan names, are they?”

Ed looks up from his reading and at the two officers across from him. He’d momentarily forgotten they were still here. With how long he and Al have spent in Central’s state library, agonizing over Marcoh’s research, still no closer to discovering the man’s secret code, he’d thought they’d left already.

Lieutenant Ross nods. “Yeah, it's been bugging me too.”

Ed throws his book aside before picking up another. Sheska’s scribbly handwriting is almost illegible. “That’s because they aren’t our names.”

When the two military personnel look confused, Al elaborates. “The Rockbells—the doctors who were stationed at our village—gave us these names.”

“What about Elric?”

“Same thing.”

“And they just gave you new names?”

Al scratches his head and it would almost be normal if not for the squeaking sound of the metal. “It’s all a little fuzzy for me, but brother remembers.”

Ed snorts. “They couldn’t say our names correctly no matter many times they tried. Either these are the closest translation they could find or they sounded close enough that it stuck.”

Lieutenant Brosh looks interested. “So what are your actual names?”

Ed snaps his book shut.

“Ishvalan names are sacred,” he grits out. He might of thrown away most of his faith, but that doesn’t mean he’ll shame his culture in the face of those who destroyed it. The act of willingly giving that information, given to them by their mother and village, to a pair of Amestrians who know nothing of their importance wouldn’t just be shameful, but an act of heresy.

Both lieutenants jump, surprised when he stands.

“C’mon, Al, it’s getting late.” He marches to the door, not offering them another glance. Al heavy gait follows close behind, leaving a pathetic goodbye in their wake.

They aren’t followed.

* * *

 Ed’s thought about his death enough times that he’s already come to a conclusion about it. If he’s to die, he hopes it’s with a bang, one that’s talked about generations to come—something cool and badass, worthy of his legacy. People would weep and piss themselves at their stupidity, letting a hero like him slip through their fingers.

Succumbing to his wounds after cheating death his whole life, all because of some deadbeat, Amestrian civilian, now that’s not what he want.

The blue-eyed nurse holds up her hands in something akin to empathy (only it’s not). “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

Al had insisted and, since Ed wasn’t up for arguing, he let him carry him to the nearest hospital. They’d been stopped even as they passed through the doors, gently informed that they were completely filled, what with the recent terrorist attacks. It’s a bunch of bull, Ed knows. Even half-dazed, he can tell there's no one nearby in need of urgent care and he can see some of the staff passing by with little to no rush. No one tries to meet his eye.

“What's going on here?” a familiar voice suddenly says, coming up by his right.

Ed bites back a curse at his luck. He’s tempted to throw his damaged arm, if only to prove that he’s not as incapable and weak as people think he is. He fought off a pair of murderer brothers bonded to suit of armor, for pete’s sake.

“Colonel Mustang!” Ed sees the man full when Al turns, imposing and serious as ever. Lieutenant Hawkeye, like always, is at his shoulder. “W-What are you doing here?”

“Lieutenant Ross and Brosh said the two of you vanished. They expressed their worries to me directly and now I can see why. What happened?”

Al doesn't have any problems with telling the man their business. “Ed got hurt and we're waiting for a doctor.”

A long sigh. “Do you even know the meaning of ‘keeping yourself out of harm's way,’ Elric?”

“You should see the other guy,” Ed quips, letting his head fall back. Al’s chest plate is cool against his cheek, so he uses it to his advantage for the time being.

Colonel Mustang doesn't find his half-hearted joke funny. From Ed’s peripheral, he see the dark-haired man pinch the bridge of his nose, then wave over a nurse. “Get this kid a doctor.”

“Yes, sir.”

A moment of silence and then, “Now.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” The nurse scrambles with papers before scampering off. “Right this way!”

Ed scoffs, his eyelids starting to get to heavy. “Now you have room.”

Mustang ignores him. “Take care of your brother, Alphonse. I don't want to come back and hear about him killing himself because of some second-rate alchemist.”

“Second-rate,” Ed snorts, as close to a thank you he'll allow.

* * *

 He wonders whether Ling notices the eyes following them.

In the packed restaurant where they’ve settled for dinner, there’s more than one pair of eyes watching them. All of the staff and half of the patrons watch him like a hawk, like he’ll do something as stupid as rob the place.

The other half doesn't give him the time of day.

By now Ed’s lost count at how many times Ling’s popped up, hungry and lost, having ditched his bodyguards. He's certainly lost count of the number of times he's ended paying for the said Xingese immigrant (his bank account’s feeling the brunt of it and he can hear it’s tortured wails every time the check arrives and his infuriating, new ally is conveniently missing).

He watches Ling devour the platter before him, barely having begun his own meal. It's mesmerizing, in a disgusting sort of way. A future Emperor should have grace and etiquette, be the epitome of royalty, and Ling shows none of it when he talks with beef spilling from his mouth. “You two are the kindest people I've ever met.”

Ed snorts. “There's plenty of people who're nicer than me.”

“Yes, but not many would bother with a starving man passed out on the street and, for that, I thank you.”

Normally Ed would revel in the fact that someone’s actually thanking him, but coming from Ling it sounds so sincere that he becomes a little uncomfortable. There’s no underlying pity or guilt, not even an inquisitive word about how an Ishvalan kid got to be Central Command’s well-known lapdog, and it throws Ed off. The Xingese prince treats him… well, like a human being.

Maybe he’s been too harsh—

“Well, will you look at that, I seemed to have forgotten my wallet again!”

His plate hits the prince straight in the face, his uneaten food splattering all over him and down his clothes, and Ed figures it's completely worth being thrown out of the restaurant.

* * *

 In the Xerxes ruins, Ed learns about Scar and the Rockbells and can’t believe he’s living in a story of tragedy. He’s furious and sad and useless, feels it boil in his veins and curl his fingers into fists.

Shan looks at him sadly and it’s like a flashback to when he was little. Despite the horrible news she’s given him, she’s familiar, calming, and everything else Ed misses from his village. “ _Let her know how how brave they were—none of us would be here if it wasn’t for them._ ”

Ed wishes that there wasn’t need for a messenger, wishes it could be anyone else but him. “ _I will._ ”

The elder woman reaches out and holds his hand between her wrinkled ones, cradling it like he’ll break at a moment’s notice. She whispers a small prayer that has Ed feeling like he’s the refugee still searching for a home. “ _I hope you’ll find peace someday._ ”

He swallows back the lump in his throat, responds like his mother taught him, and hopes too.

* * *

 Drawing out the homunculi through Scar is the worst idea Ed’s ever considered and, as expected, it turns into pig swell in a matter of seconds.

Gluttony inhales half the block trying to kill them before he’s driven away. Al is already gone, chasing after Scar, leaving warped buildings and the ground jagged as an easy trail to follow. Ling and the Old Man Fu are gone too, in search of Lan Fan, and that leaves Ed with Winry.

The Rockell’s had always helped people in need, Ed knows. Coming to their village only a few days after their father had left, Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell had been a constant, loving presence. Two people who looked past appearances, seeing only humanity in despair and stepping forward to do something about it. They were healers, good people who stuck around to help those in need, no matter that their lives were in constant danger.

He and Alphonse are living proof of that.

Winry is the same, he thinks. A good soul in a horrible world. That’s why he pries her fingers from the gun’s trigger and throws it aside without a second glance. She has the horribleness in her eyes again, pushing her to endless tears and ugly sobs. It makes her more fitting of their surroundings, a broken girl in a destroyed alley.

Ed doesn’t smile. He doesn't try to stop her crying or get her to talk to him. With what they’ve been through, that’s not enough to clear the air and vanish their sorrows. Instead, he leans in closer to whisper in her ear. She isn’t made to kill and Ed lets her know with as little as words as possible, pushing down the anger he feels bubbling up at the thought of Scar killing one of the few people in the world who deserved to come home, and tells Winry of every little thing that her parents did great. That she’s their daughter and that everything he saw in them, he sees in her. And when he’s done and there aren’t anymore words left to say, he hugs her.

“I have to go now,” he tells after sometime, his heart aching when she grabs his clothes because, for once, he doesn’t want to leave. “Al needs help, but we'll be back, I promise.”

She nods, her grip on his shirt loosening slowly.

 _We’ll be back_ , he repeats in his head, over and over again as he leaves her to the military personel. Him and Al would come back to her, to Granny Pinako, to everyone in Resembool, Ed would make sure of it. They were family, a home worth living for, one that he’s come to love more than the barren desert he can hardly remember.

And he can’t believe he ever almost gave up on it.

* * *

 By unwarranted circumstances, they meet another traveler from Xing, this one a little girl with long braids and a black and white rat on her shoulder.

She becomes infatuated with Al and Ed’s more than a little angry with how quickly he was kicked to the curb. How was he supposed to know she’d dragged him into her stupid fantasies as some sort of laughable prince? And being short shouldn’t be a tie breaker anyway.

He tells her to beat it when Al can’t sum up the courage to do it himself and she doesn’t hesitate to yell at him. Of course, to her he’s the villain, leading her astray and playing with her sensitive heart, and she berates him for something that isn’t his fault.

Of all the reasons she gives on how he broke her heart, the color of his skin doesn’t come up.

* * *

 Kimblee is a criminal, a monster fitted with an impeccable suit, his hands stained with the blood of the innocent while his shoes are shined by the Führer himself. Acquitted for his kills, he walks a free man while millions lie in graves. Ed doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact he has to work with the murderer or that he has to pretend to be oblivious to the tragedy that became of his people.

“Looks like I missed a spot,” Kimblee drawls when Ed’s decided he’s had enough of the stink that comes off the man and the threat is as clear as the difference in their skin.

Ed doesn’t answer. In this world he doesn’t have the right to fight back against superiors (not yet), but he can disobey and talk back without words, does it every time he stands before this monster, every time he exists in his presence.

All he can do is live out of spite and hope that the sins of man devour him.

* * *

 It’s almost stupid of Ed to think that the two men with Kimblee are just a pair of mindless, beefy  henchmen. That isn't to say they aren't, obeying that slimeball alchemist’s word like a whipped dogs, but there’s one simple fact that makes them different from the rest.

Chimeras, they're chimeras.

A seven foot wall raises around the two chimeras, curving to envelop them in a thick dome. He thinks that should stop them from following everyone else, but when one of them melts the concrete with acid, Ed’s close to burying them fifty feet underground out of sheer annoyance. He doesn’t have time for this. “Why are you guys working a grade A ass like Kimble anyway!”

“What else is there for us? Everything was taken from us!” the pig says. “We can’t ever go back to our families like this!”

“What does it matter what you look like?”

The pig showcases his fangs in a gruesome snarl. “What are you? Blind? Look at us!”

“We're monsters!” says the toad and Ed feels a twinge of sympathy at the self-loathing he’s all too familiar with. He’s learned his worth, decided to disregard the opinions of strangers because their hateful words have no meaning to him, but that doesn’t mean everyone has come to the same conclusion.

That still doesn’t stop him from kicking their ass.

* * *

 “Well,” Greed says with Ling’s mouth, “What do you think?”

He spreads his arms wide, like he’s showing off a new suit, grinning with teeth that becomes a beast, an aura that gives off a predatory feel. His eyes flare red and Ed’s reminded of his village, of waking up to a smaller world where red didn’t make him think of blood on the streets and blue was only the color of the sky and sea, not the eyes of murderers. _You look like demon_ , the fading religion in him whispers.

What he says instead is, “You chose a good body to take, you know that?”

The Homunculus scoffs. “I could’ve chose any human and it would all be the same. I’ll still get everything I desire because whatever I want, I take.” Somehow, Greed’s grin becomes sharper, feral and twisted, and his eyes flash like rubies clutched in the hands of murdered monarchs. “But being a Prince does add some flare, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t you know too much greed can destroy you.” Ed presents his automail. “This is what I got because I wanted more than I deserved.”

Everyone wants something they don’t have. Ed had wanted too much growing up, but age and personal experience had taught him that aiming too high could lead to ruin, consequence stripping him down to the bone. But when Greed goes on his spiel about desire and moderation, it strikes a cord in Ed because all he’s ever desired were impossible things and it makes him wonder why he ever tried to change the unattainable. Why he wasn’t greedy for the smaller things, why he didn’t fight for what he could change and take as his.

“I can see it, you know,” Greed says and his voice may be rough as rust, but he can hiss like any other snake, “what you really desire.”

Ed doesn’t take the bait. He crosses his arms, daring him to say it aloud.

Whatever he sees in his soul must be funny because Greed cackles like he did when they escaped Gluttony’s stomach, like this gives him a thrill. “You’re a real zealot! How do you keep all that greed in!”

Ed keeps quiet, but glares a warning. He knows what he wants, but to have it shouted out for the world to hear is not something he wants, especially with Darius and Heinkel nearby. He’d end up stabbing Ling’s body.

“You must really hate me. Killing your friend and then putting myself in his body—or that I can go into any body. Not to mention you need a philosopher stone for your brother.” He eyes him like a king might a holy knight, except he would gladly send him out on a crusade that he knows will fail, make him drink from a Holy Grail filled to the brim with poison. “Now your other desire… I’m actually surprised. Who’s the lucky lady you’ll be taking?”

Heat builds up in Ed’s face and at the back of his neck. “Do you ever shut up?”

“You might actually beat out His Royal Highness! I thought he was the greediest bastard out there, but you’re giving him a run for his money! Ha!”

Ed narrows his eyes. “You’re talking about Ling like he’s still alive.”

“I’ve only taken on some of his ambitions. Emperor of Xing does have a ring to it.”

Ed can smell a cover up, has been able to ever since he was given the garbage defending the Ishvalan war. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

“Not anymore.”

“You’re lying.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? That guy’s gone! It’s only me now!” Greed cuts the distance between them quicker than a viper and bares his teeth in a warning, but Ed stands his ground. Devils and demons have no power him, haven’t for a long time. His lack of reaction pays off because Greed’s irritation melts into dangerous interest, his emotions flitting from one to the next without pause or reflection. “Actually, I have a better idea than killing you. I could use a subordinate to help me with my plans.”

“You mean a lackey.”

“Humans are barely qualified to shine my shoes, so I’d say this is a step up for you!” He laughs at Ed’s unamused expression, loud and wild. “What do you say, from one greed to another?”

Ed accepts.

* * *

 The moment the truth slithers out of Envy’s mouth, Ed’s already launched himself at the homunculus.

General Hughes. His mother. The Ishvalan Civil War. So many deaths on the shoulders of one murderer, an all out psycho who laughs at the waste of life.

Ed doesn't think, he acts. No one stops him—maybe because they’re still grasping at what it all means, or maybe because they do understand and don’t want to stop him. Whatever the case, he’s free to launch himself at the green-eyed monster.

One good punch, that’s all he wants.

Envy leans back, that stupid smirk on his face never leaving when he ducks his kick.

He pulls his fist back and lets one fly, putting the weight of his whole body behind it just like Teacher taught him. It catches the homunculus straight on the nose, frail cartilage not standing a chance against his reinforced automail. A screw pops out and pain flares at his shoulder, but Ed doesn’t care.

Envy gives him a bloody grin. “Pathetic.”

There's enough anger in him to respond, to give the monster more than just a broken nose. It boils in his veins, teetering on edge of mindless fury, a burning fire that could consume him in an instant if only he’d let it. But, somehow, he stops.

Instead, he breathes. In and out, in and out, again and again until red no longer clouds his vision. He’s more than this, more than the monsters who’ve been running the show, braver and stronger than the cowards who bow down to the powerful, smarter than ignorants who let the tragedies pass by one by one.

Winry will have a fit once he shows her the dislocated joints, but it was worth it. It doesn’t matter that the damage will fade, the damned Philosopher's stone making sure of that, or that he might not get to beat his anger into someone who truly deserves it.

One good punch, that’s all he gives himself.

One good punch, that's all he gets.

* * *

 Fair, that's what his mother used to tell him, God is fair. He is as fair as the world is, giving as much as he takes.

(Except how can it be fair when murderers are left in charge and mass genocides are allowed to happen. When honest, good people are left to rot and the rich and the cruel are living the life of luxury. When demons can rise and torment humanity, bring out the worst in people, and laugh at all the suffering.

His mother would still be alive if it was fair.)

It's like alchemy, he thinks.

For every action, there's a reaction; matter cannot be created, only transformed; when one living thing dies, another takes its place, and so on. It’s a fact, a law that can’t be broken, even if one wills it so. Father tried to be the exception, but no one was above God, least of all an impersonator.

Mei’s cries are loud to Ed’s ears, begging and pleading to an empty suit of armor. Father is gone, but his hubris has left more than one scar in their lives, Alphonse paying the highest price for a debt that isn’t his, and Ed feels his grief morph into anger, righteous fury that pushes him to something impossible.

Unbreakable law or not, there’s no way in hell Ed will let his brother be taken, not when they’ve come so far. He’s gone through so much, lived through being a sacrifice, punched a dick-headed homunculus who claims to be a god, only to lose the one person he’s so determined to save.

That’s not how it’s supposed to be and it’s certainly not how he’ll let it end.

* * *

 The other place is as familiar to him as his own hand now and, when he goes back for the final time, he’s not afraid.

The door is huge and dark, stark against the white oblivion. It's edges are sharp, hard lines that stab at his eyes when he looks at it longer than a minute. Roots and branches decorate it’s base, twisting out in mesmerizing patterns as they travel up, each a key element to the structure of the world, so tangled that not even an eternity of studying would be enough for him to decipher its secrets. He might go mad.

“So you’re back,” a familiar voice says and Ed turns to see the one constant of the afterlife. “Here for your brother, are you? How do you plan on taking an entire human body out of here?” The corporeal body tilts its head, curious. “What do you have to offer as payment instead?”

Ed doesn’t take the bait like all the times before. As cliche as it sounds, he’s grown older, wiser, learning from his past mistakes and those of everyone that came before him. The adrenaline from battling Father has faded, leaving him calm and sure of himself. He’s already decided the only thing worth trading has been right in front of him all along.

Ed looks at the Gate, the only thing standing between him and God’s domain. The key to knowledge and truth right before him, priceless and a perfect for an exchange. “I've got your payment right here.”

The nothingness stills. Ed turns away from the door to look at the being behind him. It hasn’t moved, still in the relaxed position he remembers from the other times he’s risked his life to come to this place, a generic shape of white that could be anyone. A killer, peasant, a leader, a god. It’s all the same to him now.

“Well,” he says, “how about it?”

It grins.

* * *

 The shining sun makes Al’s sunken cheeks look worse than they are and Ed worries that he’ll suffer from a heat stroke.

He pulls Al’s hood up, fixes his scarf, like he used to do when they were kids. They were heading home, whole and safe, and there's no way he's chancing Al getting sick no matter how much his little brother argued over it. His cheeks are a bit sunken, his hair falling flat and thin, but otherwise, he appears healthy. He fixes his own clothes, somewhat nervous for the first time at being out in the open dressed the way he is. Plain robes and red sashes clash with the industrial make of their Amestris coat, but Ed likes the way they mix. It's something new, something entirely _him_.

The train’s whistle is shrill, warning them of their imminent departure, and the platform is alive with the rush of people coming and going. Armstrong nearly crushes Ed with his hug, but he treats Al like glass, tears running down his face as he wishes him the safest trip home. Lieutenant Ross and Brosh offer less suffocating goodbyes.

Some bandages still peek out from Riza’s collar, but she’s still smiling. “Make sure to visit us sometime, will you?”

Colonel Mustang looks almost as sad as the rest of his subordinates, peaking through the half-smile and the way his milky eyes can’t focus of them, but he tries to hide it behind a well-placed tease that would usually get Ed’s temper flaring (only it doesn’t). He shakes the man’s hand, mutters the shortest prayer he knows under his breath in the hopes that life will give him what he deserves, offer a miracle. Find peace, that’s what Shan had said, and Ed thinks her words were more of a blessing than a prayer, something everyone should strive for.

He wants to give something back to the people who’ve stuck by him this whole journey, Ed realizes, an decides to give an exchange in the only way he knows how. “We’ll be back. You won’t get rid of us that easily, right _Alphonse_?”

Al blinks, surprised by his slip into Ishvalan, even more so by his name. He looks to Ed, then to the group surrounding them, and then back again, before realization hits. His smile is wide. “Right, _Edward_.”

Colonel Mustang frowns, confused, and he’s not the only one. Ed huffs, feeling stupid and childish. Spinning on his heel, he grabs their suitcases and makes a beeline to their cart. “ _C’mon Al, our train’s going to leave soon_.”

“ _Ah! Brother!_ ” he hears Al say, rushing through last minute hugs. “Bye everyone! _Ed, wait up! I can’t walk that fast!_ ”

He slows his pace until Al finally catches up, far more breathless than expected for such a short distance. His scrunched up face has Ed feeling a little guilty for leaving so abruptly. Wanting to make it up to him, he deems himself the pack mule for the trip.  

“ _I can carry my own stuff, Ed_ ,” Al huffs, aiming to grab his suitcase.

Ed yanks it out of his reach. “ _No way. Your body still isn’t at it’s full strength. You’ll topple over if I give it to you._ ”

“ _Your arm’s just as weak_.”

“ _No, it’s not._ ”

“ _Yes, it is._ ”

“ _No, it’s—_ ” Having to argue with his brother has Ed’s temper flaring. “I _’m trying to be a good brother here, Al! You’re going to have to suck it up and deal with me carrying your stuff_!”

His outburst leaves him self conscious for some reason, during which Ed adamantly ignores the prickling feeling at the back of his neck. He’s all too aware of the stares that follow him, judging him.

Al merely grins. “ _Don’t worry, brother, they understood_.”

They reach their cart and Ed grudgingly gives Al his suitcase to get out their tickets. He glares at his brother with as much irritation he can muster, growling, “S _hut up_.”

* * *

Den jumps Al the moment they’re in sight of the house.

Ed nearly has a heart attack when Al wheezes like decade-old engine, but he’s waved away. The stupid, excited dog doesn’t know how to be gentle and Al can’t seem to care that he’s not made of metal anymore, and Ed has half a mind to start yelling when he hears the sound of a door bursting open.

“Den, what have I told you—”

Winry stops. She grips the railing, her hair uncombed and grease stains on her shirt, and there’s a nervousness in Ed hasn’t fully dealt with, like there’s more to do and more to say, but that’s overshadowed by the happiness that bubbles in his chest at the sight of her. He’s fought against gods and demons, gone to hell and back for his brother, succeeded in the impossible, and has been given the paradise he’s been promised in his mother’s stories. Winry is real and so is the house, the grassy hills, everything else about the moment, and Ed can already taste the pie she has cooked up for them.

“We're back,” Al says, smiling even though he's practically covered in dog spit.

“You’re back,” Winry says weakly, before letting out a watery laugh. “You’re back!”

They’re home. 


End file.
